Of Fire and Ice
by fanciful.thoughts
Summary: A chance meeting turns into a fiery romance between two extremely unlikely nations, and as the two grow closer, their developing relationship threatens to be the catalyst to the next world war. "Antonio, he will kill you." "I'd like to see him try." - Spain/Belarus/Russia. - DISCONTINUED.
1. Prologue

No one had really seen this one coming.

Honestly, he himself hadn't really seen it coming. It was just that one day he'd been leaving the UN headquarters and seen her standing there, talking to_ him, _and looking as though she was about to burst into tears. He'd never seen that expression on her face before, and he was surprised.

After all, Belarus was usually as icy as her winters.

But what had really gotten him was when she reached up to touch the man in the scarf and he caught her hand and pushed it away. Then he entered his car and left her standing there.

He could relate. That'd happened to him hundreds, thousands of times.

He knew what it felt like to love someone who did nothing but push you away.

So he walked over with a cheery smile and tapped her shoulder, inquiring a soft, "_Senorita_?" She turned large blue-violet eyes on him, the tears he'd seen earlier already gone. Her expression would have sent most men running for their lives, but he had the advantage of being atypical. Angry people didn't scare him off as easily; in some cases he found a temper to be cute.

She was definitely cute. Very pretty- none of the other nations were as pretty as her. It was too bad everyone always called her insane and shied away.

He imagined how much prettier she'd be if she would smile.

"Are you alright?" he asked simply, not really one for delicate phrasing and subject-hopping. She blinked slowly.

"Yes." Monosyllabic.

"_Perdóname_, _Belarús_," he said with a bashful smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just that I saw what happened and I thought you might like some company."

"Nothing happened," he answered sharply, eyes glinting. He remembered that she was a master of weapons and most likely had dozens of knives on her person, hidden in various places of her blue dress.

"Not what I saw, _senorita_," he replied, smile slightly more insistent. Her brow twitched in annoyance and he continued, not wanting to antagonize himself too badly. "It is just that, we all know how you love your brother, but he does not seem to be too nice to you. _Si_?" She did not answer, just gazed up at him. Her pretty face had smoothed, as expressionless as that of a doll. Then she parted her lips.

"I could say the same to you. The Italian is not too kind himself." There was a bit of ice edging her words, designed to cut. His smile thinned slightly, but he did not relent.

"_Exactamente_."

A beat of silence.

"... What is your point?" She was trying not to frown, he could tell. He did that often when Lovino was being particularly disagreeable, except he just smiled more widely. The young woman before him opted to stay expressionless.

"Well, I would understand better than anyone, _si_?" She gave up on trying as he said that, a frown creasing slightly between her brows. Then the expression smoothed and she nodded slowly, much to his surprise.

"_Da_."

"_Maravilloso_!" he exclaimed, surprising her slightly. She parted her lips once more to ask what was so "maravilloso" about their agreement, but he beat her to the punch. "It is almost six in _España_; would you like to come to my house for dinner?"

She was about to protest, really she was, but the way he looked pleadingly down at her didn't leave much room for argument. It was odd; usually she could say no to anyone without feeling regret, but his deep green eyes were so expressive that it would have been like saying no to a child, and contrary to her image, Natalia loved children-

"... Yes."

He lit up like America on Christmas, and a touch of pink might have graced her cheeks.

"_Genial_!" he answered happily, touching the small of her back. "Come, my car is this way."

His hand was impossibly warm even through three layers of heavy fabric.

* * *

It had seemed only natural to invite her to come again the next day at the end of dinner. It had not been a quiet affair; he had chattered cheerfully to her about anything and everything (though, for once, he had enough tact to avoid touchy subjects) while she occasionally replied to his queries. She was quiet but did not seem annoyed. It was a nice change of pace from being yelled at and called an idiot constantly. He had only been a little bit surprised when she accepted, nodding wordlessly.

Like the ladies' man he was, he took her hand in his (ungloved, she had shedded those black gloves upon entering his warm lands), and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Her skin was still icy. He lingered for a moment, breath ghosting over her pale hand, as though he expected her to melt.

For her part, she had felt a jolt of heat travel though her whole body at how _hot _his lips and fingers were. A bit more hurriedly than she wanted to admit, she pulled her hand from his grip and straightened. Not affronted at all, he smiled and led her to the door.

She melted into the night before his eyes, and he gazed into the darkness for a moment before re-entering his lavish house.

* * *

They were allowed to seat themselves wherever they wished for the world conferences, but they had all been sitting in more or less the same arrangement for years. So it came as a surprise to everyone present the next day when Spain entered the conference room, waved to Belarus, and loped over to sit beside her. Her indifference and his obliviousness nullified all the odd looks they were getting as he chatted cheerfully with her. Well, more _at_ her, but she wasn't complaining. He took that as a good sign.

They both missed the intense gazes they were getting from two countries in particular. Romano seemed to be doing his absolute best to drill twin holes in the back of Spain's head with his eyes. Russia seemed to be doing the same to Belarus, though his gaze lacked the pure venom of the Italian's. Rather, he seemed to be concentrating deeply, not understanding what he was seeing.

The whole meeting room seemed to quiet itself little by little, the other countries' voices falling increasingly quieter as they attempted to listen in on the odd couple's conversation.

"... and then I was thinking that maybe we could go dancing? I am sure you are a wonderful dancer, _Belarús. _Of course, I'll be certain to prepare a lighter dinner tonight if you _do_ want to go dancing- you did like the tomatoes last night, _si_?"

"Yes."

"Ah! Do you like chocolate? I just received a large import from Belgium, and perhaps I can make you a nice dessert? If you'd prefer, then, we can stay at my home and do something... else..." He slowly trailed off. Not to be suggestive, but because he suddenly realized that the room was silent and everyone was staring at them. Belarus looked up as well, seeming unruffled. "Eh... Is everything alright?" he asked the room after a couple moments of awkward silence.

Everyone suddenly dove right back into their old conversations as though nothing had happened. Only Russia and Romano kept watching.

* * *

"_Belarús_!" Spain called cheerfully, running up to the young woman and picking her up in a hug. She made a soft exclamation of surprise, wrapping her arms around his shoulders on reflex as he gave her a little spin. It was disconcerting, how _warm _he was- his body was practically burning against hers. Every time he touched her, she was shocked. Unbelievable. A soft blush rose in her cheeks as he set her down, arms still losely around her waist, and smiled brightly. "Good morning!" he greeted belatedly, bumping his nose with hers.

She turned a fascinating shade of crimson. He grinned brighter at how adorable she was. "What was that for?" she asked, but she didn't push him off. She hadn't known such warmth for a very, very long time.

"I missed you," he answered simply, releasing her. A tiny part of the nation protested at the loss of heat, but he wrapped an arm around her shoulders instead. She had never met someone so touchy. Or, frankly, anyone who had the nerve to be so touchy with _her_.

... Oddly, she did not find herself disliking it.

"We have been together for the past three hours, _Ispaniya,_" she answered tonelessly, though there was the barest- _barest!- _hint of a smile at the corners of her lips. His smile grew all the more brilliant in response.

"Yes, but I did not get the chance to speak with you! Then you walked out of the conference room." Her tiny smile grew an equally tiny bit at the answer. There was something about this man that was just so kind, so pleasant, that it was impossible to dislike him, though she had tried her best. She had given up after their first conversation the day before, and after only twenty-four hours, they seemed inseparable.

She wondered offhandedly why he was so interested in being a friend to her. After a moment of thought, she voiced the question. "Why not?" Spain answered with a happy smile, the arm around the Eastern country tightening slightly. "I like you, you're _bella_, we understand each other, and we get along." The answer was simple. She was confused.

"I am... pretty?" No one had told her that since she had been little. They had been too afraid of her to say so, she assumed, but after a while she had begun doubting. Perhaps she simply wasn't attractive...?

"Of course!" Spain answered as though the question were silly. "You're by far the most beautiful of all the nations!" he answered cheerfully (receiving himself a look from the passing Austria and Hungary). Slowly, the Slavic country's delicate features began to color all over again until her cheeks were burning patches of pink. She looked away.

"... _Ispaniya_."

"_Si_?"

"You may call me Natalia."

"Only if you call me Antonio."

And so it began.

* * *

Spanish: _Perdóname- _excuse me; _Belarús_- Belarus; _senorita_- miss; _si_- yes; _exactamente_- exactly; _marvilloso_- wonderful; _genial_- great;_ bella_- beautiful.

Russian (as I have absolutely no knowledge of Belarusian, and the languages are very similar): _Da_- yes; _Ispaniya_- Spain. I was tempted to spell Ispaniya "Ispanija", due to the "j" in Slavic languages being pronounced as a "y" sound, but I was rather sure that no one would understand how to pronounce the words. They'll be spelled as they sound, due to Russians using the cyrillic alphabet most (for all I know; I'm Serbian).


	2. The Perils of the Belarusian Spring

Her house was not as quiet as it usually was. It was not loud, to be sure, but there was an air of activity. Folk songs played quietly in the background as Natalia cooked, preparing dinner for herself and Antonio. After a week of him treating her to his cuisine and inviting her over for dinner, she had finally put her foot down and insisted he come to her house to sample her culture.

Not that she'd had to actually put her foot down or even insist- at her first request, he had beamed at her as though she had just told him the most amazing thing he'd ever heard. He had seemed so excited when she had gone home last night, almost bouncing in place. She found it odd how much he liked her company. After all, no one else did.

But _he_ liked her. He had made that clear enough in the past week. He had been happy, so happy; so had she.

Natalia checked the clock atop her stove and hummed in approval. She had enough time to finish up the honey cake she was working on, though she had a few doubts about how it would turn out. She had not made any desserts in a long time; in fact, she hadn't cooked this much since the last time her brother and sister had come to her house... years ago. She paused in her preparations, staring silently at the honey in her hands. Ivan had loved her cooking, once. She wondered if Antonio would as well... With a shake of her head, she resumed.

It was truly amazing how the cheerful Spaniard had been able to distract her from all the problems in her life... including the fact that Ivan did not love her. At all.

A tiny frown creased her forehead as the Slavic nation paused her cooking once more. It was odd, how that thought did not bother her as much as it usually would have. In fact, now that she thought about it... the thought did not bother her at all.

Natalia frowned deeply for a moment, setting down the batter she'd been working on. This was unprecedented, unheard of; Ivan had once been her every waking thought, her joy and her sorrow, her idol. When had things changed? Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a hint of vibrant red and turned towards it. Her expression slowly lost its severity, softening little by little as the seconds passed. Her eyes had latched onto a single red rose in a slim vase, sitting unobtrusively by her window.

A slow smile curled Natalia's pink lips and she stepped away from her counter, walking over to take a delicate sniff of the flower. It was a wild rose, its perfume drowning her senses immediately and filling her with warmth. The warmth of Antonio's smiles, touches, the kisses to her cheeks. For one second, she was overflowing with Antonio's heat.

As the flush left her cheeks, Natalia trailed a fingertip over the rose's soft petals.

She knew_ exactly _when things had changed.

* * *

Antonio was positively drunk off of happiness.

Not that this was unusual for the perpetually cheery nation, but he was literally dancing through his room as he dressed, singing happily to himself in his native Spanish. What to wear, which color would she like best? Did it matter? He pondered all the questions with a smile before deciding on black slacks and a deep emerald dress shirt. She tended to look at his eyes whenever she thought he wasn't paying attention, so he did not think it could hurt too much to play up the color.

The nation chuckled good-naturedly at himself as he buttoned up the shirt, shaking his head. "Play up the color"? He was acting as though this was a date or his first time being with Natalia. If anyone had been looking on, he probably would have seemed ridiculous to them. Still, he could not quite bring himself to mind.

After all, what was there to mind? He smiled, looking in the mirror to get his curly hair under some semblance of control. He was going to be spending the evening with a beautiful woman- who wanted to cook for him, nonetheless!- who simply enjoyed his company. His smile softened slightly. Though he had always had companions through his life, he would wager that Natalia had been lonely in recent times. Ever since the dissolution of the Soviet Union, he could not remember ever seeing her (willingly) with anyone other than her sister. That was just fine with the Spaniard, since it left him with all the more time with her.

He wondered what she thought of him, of them. He was very affectionate in his nature, and when he saw someone as absolutely adorable as her, he couldn't seem to resist showering her with tenderness. He loved the way her cheeks would turn red every time he kissed them or pulled her close. Red as tomatoes. He loved the way she gazed at him inquisitively as he spoke, never saying a word but always giving him her full attention. He loved the way that every now and then, she'd raise a gloved hand to brush her pale locks over her shoulder. He loved the way that whenever his lips brushed across her skin, she tasted sweet and cold. He loved... well, to be frank, Antonio loved almost everything about Natalia.

And he would love it if she loved just as much about himself.

Checking the time and seeing that he was still running early, Antonio deemed it safe to go to his garden and pick Natalia a few tomatoes. He didn't know much about Belarusian cuisine, but he was certain that tomatoes could make anything that was already delicious even better. As he went about picking them in the gentle sun, his thoughts insisted upon staying focused on his... _His_? His what?

His lips quirked a little higher as he picked an adorably small little tomato, a perfect ripe red despite its size. He certainly knew what he _wanted_ her to be: his _amante_; lover.

Spain could not and would not deny being a romantic. If given the chance, he could fall for a person very quickly. Conversely, he would stay head over heels for a very, _very_long time. It had not taken him long at all to grow attached to the Belarusian beauty, and he had been beyond help after the first time she had blushed for him. He wondered if she had understood the significance of the red rose he had given her just the night before, or if she had written the flower off to him simply being himself. Unfortunately, the answer was probably the latter.

The tanned man sighed softly, carrying his basket of tomatoes in a way that would not ruin his clothing. It would not do to appear sloppy in the face of a woman always so perfectly groomed. Natalia had been good to him in the past week; good enough to pull his heart from Lovino to herself. It was a bit early to say that he was in love with her- he knew such an emotion would have to be nurtured until it reached full bloom. However, it hadn't taken long at all for himself to become so enamored of her, and he was sure that it would not be long before he took the final step. He set down the basket to open the door leading back to his kitchen, entering with the basket. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the apparent darkness after basking in the light of his backyard.

Antonio blinked.

"_¡Hola, Lovi! _I haven't seen you for a week!" he greeted the figure leaning against his kitchen counter, walking in with a fond smile. He set the basket down beside the Italian, opening his arms for a hug. He was promptly ignored, so he simply swooped in and hugged the younger man, getting pushed away after a moment. He stepped back, gazing curiously at the other's glower. "_¿Estás bien?_"

"No I'm not, you idiot!" Lovino snapped, glaring hotly at Antonio. The Spaniard blinked, uncomprehending, and in turn earned himself a frustrated sigh from the addressor. Lovino pinched the bridge of his nose, purposefully not looking at the other. "And why haven't you seen me in a week?"

"You have not come over,_ obviamente_," Antonio answered with a small frown. "Why else?"

"Why else? Because you've been with that- that- _Slav_for the past week! Every day! Every night! You've been inseparable! What the _hell_'ve you been _doing_ with her?!" Antonio took a step back at the explosion, but it didn't save him. Lovino gripped the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer and glaring hotly up into the other's eyes; he could have sworn on his life that fire was burning in those amber depths. Spain carefully pried the angry man's hands off his shirt, holding them in a gentle grip.

"I'm sorry you missed me, Lovi, you could have come by at any time, Natalia would not have minded. Please don't speak so meanly of her, she's such a nice-"

"_Nice_? _Stai scherzando_! That girl is an total fucking _psychopath_! She's a a nutjob in love with her _fratello_, who's the king of batshit insane pipe-swinging freaks-"

"_Cálmate_, Lovino, please don't talk about her like-"

"'Don't talk about her like that'? How can I _not_?! She's got you under some weird Russian voodoo-"

"_¿De qué estás hablando? _Natalia's done nothing like-"

"That's bullshit, Antonio, and you know it!"

"Lovino." It was not a threat, an order, or even an exclamation. It was a statement, softly said, with no special hint of passion in it. What silenced the Italian was the serious undertone of the usually jovial man's voice- a dead giveaway that he had crossed a big, glow-in-the-dark, blinking, three-foot-thick line. He swallowed the indignant words bubbling up in his throat in favor of glowering at his unsmiling companion. "_Por favor_, put forth some effort to be nice to Natalia. I like her very much, and she's a _buena mujer _when you give her a chance." Antonio graced him with with a hopeful smile, giving his hands a squeeze.

"... _Buona donna_, huh?" Lovino sighed, relaxing his shoulders. It seemed he'd run out of steam. Antonio's smile brightened in response and he nodded, pulling the smaller man into a hug. He didn't protest, resting his forehead against the Spaniard's shoulder.

"_Si_. If you gave her a chance, I am sure you would like her. _Siento haberte hecho sentir solo_."

"I wasn't lonely, you bastard," Lovino muttered against his shoulder, nudging him irritably. Antonio chuckled in response, petting the younger man's hair.

"_Por supuesto_," he answered, a hint of teasing that he couldn't quite eliminate in his voice. Lovino huffed in response, shoving Antonio away. The action only earned him an amused laugh from the other country.

"Bastard," he repeated, glaring without any real venom. He noted the other's clothing with a frown, giving him a once-over. "And where are you going, huh?" A second passed and Antonio's eyes widened at the question. He'd been running early before he'd gone out to pick tomatoes for Natalia, but he'd spent a great deal of time outside, and now with Lovino-

He sprinted over to his stove and looked at the time. "... _¡Mierda!_"

"Wait, Spain- Spain, you bastard, slow down! Where are you... going...?" Lovino blinked, gazing after the Spaniard sprinting out of his house. He huffed and hopped onto the kitchen counter, picking up one of the tomatoes Antonio hadn't grabbed in his hurry to run to Belarus. He took a bite of the fruit, muttering about voodoo women and idiotic romantics between bites.

* * *

Natalia frowned slightly, shifting in her seat. It was six o'clock sharp, and there was no sign of a Spanish man in her house. She had hoped that after she arrived at his doorstep the moment the clock struck six for a straight week, he would have realized that she was appreciative of punctuality. Yet here she sat in her living room, the grandfather clock in the corner of the room hitting 6:01... Antonio-less.

She suppressed a sigh and clasped her hands. There was no use in growing irritated when she knew he would most likely arrive soon. She tried to quash the irrational impulse to believe he wasn't coming, snorting softly at the melodramatic female inside of her. Honestly. Firstly, Antonio didn't have a single malicious bone in his body, and secondly, he had simply been too _excited_to possibly have forgotten about their rendez-vous. She would just have to wait it out.

A sudden idea struck her. If she was already waiting, perhaps she could... Natalia looked down at herself. She was wearing her regular blue dress and everything that came with it: the apron, sash, tights, and hair tie. Natalia had never been the type of girl to dress up in anything special, as her everyday wear was formal in the eyes of many. She had grown used to the outfit, which was both pretty and surprisingly practical, and therefore had never seen any reason to wear anything other than one of her many similar dresses. Perhaps a change was in order, if only for one night.

The blonde stood with a fluid grace that would make a cat jealous and started up her stairs at a quick pace (because she wanted to be quick,_ not _because she was hoping Antonio would pop up any second). She made her way to her room, bypassing her bed and vanity mirror on her way to the seldom-used walk in closet. She opened it stepped inside, pushing apart blue and black dresses she saw until her eyes caught the rectangular box that was hiding underneath their skirts. The nation bent down and picked it up, blowing a thin sheen of dust off the top of it before walking back to her bed. Just a few months back she'd been shopping with Ukraine, her treat, since she knew her sister didn't have the funds she needed for any new clothing. Somehow, the older woman had talked her into trying on and buying the dress now resting atop her bed, proclaiming it to be absolutely gorgeous and threatening to buy it for Natalia if she didn't do so herself.

The blue-clad woman had to grudgingly admit that her sister knew what she was talking about as she pulled the fancy top off the box, ignoring the French writing informing her nothing she could not deduce on her own about the dress. The woman in her sighed softly at the sight of it, but Natalia showed no reaction other than a small twitch of her lips.

She quickly disrobed, pulling on a pair of black silk stockings and a thin slip for some protection against the Belarusian cold. The dress itself was also thin, but she luckily had a matching shrug. Natalia carefully pulled on the dress, muttering to herself as she pulled her head through the thin loop of the halter neck. A bit of uncomfortable maneuvering settled the rest around her figure, the chill nipping at her uncovered back. The woman zipped it up with minimal difficulty, this time actually sighing in pleasure at the way it hugged her figure. She turned to the vanity mirror and immediately resolved to thank her sister the first chance she got.

Hugging her torso tightly was a halter-style royal blue silk creation, its neckline a plunging 'V'. She adjusted it self-consciously for a moment before shaking her head. Natalia thanked whatever deity there was that she had set dinner in front of the fire downstairs, because she was already beginning to feel a little chill. It would only be worse when she tied her hair up, but she was hoping that the shrug would save her bare back. Stepping closer to the vanity table, a delicate hand extended and opened a drawer. The pin produced was a pale blue decorated with a white lily; said pin was promptly utilized to hold up locks of platinum hair in an elegant bun.

Natalia glanced out the window to the lowering sun, wondering how much time had passed without Antonio's arrival. She would feel like a complete idiot if he didn't come after all of this dolling up... _He'll come_, her mind said resolutely, and she nodded, moving to sit down before the vanity. The Belarusian beauty gazed at herself in the mirror for a moment before reaching her hand out to the seldom-used makeup by the mirror. She applied a small amount of blush and a pale lipstick that rendered her lips a natural shade of red. Natalia stepped back and observed herself for a moment, smiling slightly. _"You're by far the most beautiful of all the nations!" _Antonio had said. At that moment, she could have sworn he was right. With a final small smile at the mirror, she pulled the deep blue silk wrap around herself, walking out the bedroom door.

As Natalia made her way down the stairs towards the comforting warmth of the fire, she heard her doorbell ring.

* * *

Outside that door, one Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was attempting to catch his breath before Natalia opened the door. He was doubled over with his hands on his knees, a small basket of tomatoes on the ground by his feet (and he deserved quite a bit of credit for managing to not drop any of them). He had practically sprinted from his house to his blonde friend's, and he would be the first to say that crossing that much land in little over ten minutes was not a laughing matter. In fact, he wondered why he was not drenched in sweat from-

Oh.

_Oh_.

"_¡Dios mio!_" He realized the answer as soon as the question was asked, hands coming up to grip at his arms in a desperate plea for warmth. The reason he was not sweating was most likely the near-freezing temperature he was being subjected to. And it was _springtime_! He nearly wept with gratitude as the door opened, but was stopped by one thing: his eyes nearly falling out of his head.

Natalia stood before him, a vaguely curious expression on her face. However, what caught his eyes was the dress she wore. Yards of deep blue silk that seemed to be tailor-made to her form, clinging tightly to her torso in a way that should have been illegal. He forced his eyes not to focus on her chest any longer than was polite in a general sweep- and _Dios_, was she making it difficult, with all that smooth white skin!- and met her inquisitive gaze with a bright smile. "_¡Hola, Natalia! Dios mio, estás increiblemente hermosa._" he greeted, picking the tomatoes up. Natalia flushed at the compliment, but refused to be swayed.

"You're late," she observed bluntly, stepping aside so her companion could enter. He complied, laughing in response.

"_Si, lo siento_. I was picking tomatoes for you, then Lovi showed up and started yelling, and by the time he was calm I was already running late!" he explained. "Aaah, Natalia! Your house is so _bella_!" he observed, looking around with wide-eyes wonder. Natalia flushed slightly, shaking her head to herself. Her house wasn't anything amazing; it was simply very traditional and very clean, tastefully decorated with deep colors and rich woods. Ivan's house was much more impressive, as was Antonio's own.

"It's nothing special," she dismissed, leading him towards the fire. "Where is your coat?"

"Aah, when I saw the time I ran out of my house without remembering to grab it," he answered, smiling sheepishly. Natalia nodded silently, sitting him down in the chair she had appointed him to in the small table and taking the basket of tomatoes with a quiet "_spasiba_." Antonio grinned broadly at her before more or less sinking into the seat by the fire, feeling himself warming up. People like him were simply not made to endure the eastern climate.

Natalia headed back to the kitchen, setting the tomatoes down on her counter. With a self-assured grace few women would have been able to manage in her dress, she picked up the _yushka _she had prepared and carried it back to the living room where she had set up their table. She found Antonio scrutinizing the fine plates and silverware she had arranged, repressing a smile when his eyes turned to her. "It smells delicious," he complimented, smiling with all the warmth of the Spanish sun as she neared. Natalia warmed slightly in response, having missed the compliments her cooking had gotten years before.

"It is _yushka_- fish soup." She poured him a generous serving, herself a little less, and set the pot down at the center of the table in case Antonio wanted more. After they were both seated, Natalia made a motion for Antonio to begin his meal, gazing at him from under her lashes as she raised her own spoon to her lips. The moment of truth came as he slipped his spoon between his lips, tasting her culinary creation. Immediately after he had swallowed, he made a soft pleased sound. Natalia's lips quirked into a smile, knowing well how wonderfully _yushka_could warm the insides in her cold lands. They ate their soup in a companionable silence, the only sounds in Natalia's house the faint beat of folk music and the clinking of spoons against dishes. Though she had poured Antonio a good-sized serving, he was done before she was; green eyes gazed inquiringly at her. "You may take more if you wish," she stated with an amused not-quite smile, earning herself a slightly abashed chuckle as Antonio did just that.

Conversation picked up after Antonio's insides were properly warmed up, and by the time Natalia was carrying over their plates (with artfully arranged _barysauski_ salad, mushroom-stuffed eggs, and _vicibek _cutlets; she believed she had done _quite_ a good job, thank you), Antonio was again chattering cheerfully. "... and if you continue to cook like this, I will have to bother you for food every day." His eyes sparkled playfully up at her as she set down their plates, making Natalia's eyes return the sparkle.

"I do not think I would be able to tolerate any more of your presence than I already am," she answered with a quiet undertone of teasing. Antonio cocked a brow, a crooked grin twisting his full lips. It was times like this where Natalia understood why everyone seemed to rave about Spanish lovers; every now and then Antonio would pull a seductive expression without even realizing it.

"What can I say, Natalia? When I see a beautiful woman who can cook like no other, I simply cannot help flocking towards her," he replied, his Spanish accent curling around her name delightfully. Natalia mirrored him by cocking her own brow.

"Then you shall have to hope she has no knives up her dress," she replied, missing the way Antonio's eyes flicked down beneath her collar at the words. Her tone was not intentionally suggestive and he knew this- it was simply not her style. However, that knowledge did nothing to stop his pulse from spiking slightly.

"I will make sure to check before she can pull them out," he answered cheekily, making one of those tomato-blushes he loved rise in her high cheekbones.

"You are incorrigible," Natalia replied primly, her eyes flicking to her plate as though she was tempted to flick food at his head.

It might have been the fire or the Moldavian wine, but the temperature seemed to rise to a few degrees as Antonio's deep laugh echoed through her house.

* * *

An hour later found the pair on Natalia's couch in a position that would have made Lovino burst a blood vessel. As it was farther from the fire, both Natalia and Antonio had needed some warmth, so the Spaniard had recommended sharing body warmth. Natalia had initially protested, but between the chill nipping at her back and Antonio's smile, it had only been a matter of time before she caved to his request.

That was how they had ended up as they were: Antonio sprawled over the couch on his back, a tanned curled around the Belarusian curled over him. His hand stroked over her back, keeping her warm, as she nuzzled her pale face deeper into his neck. Their legs had tangled together thanks to the slits up the sides of the blonde's dress, ensuring that there were very few places where they weren't touching. Neither could recollect the last time they had been she comfortable. Their eyes were focusing on the screen of Natalia's television, watching a lighthearted romance movie play out. Natalia would occasionally snort at the leading actress and Antonio would chuckle at the better jokes, but it was mostly a comfortably quiet affair.

By the time half of the movie had passed, Antonio was seriously wondering if it had been such a good idea to watch a romance with Natalia. Not that it was awkward, it was just that... whenever there was a kiss on the screen, he found himself tempted to duplicate the act and see if he could make Natalia sigh even more rapturously than the actress on the screen.

So he could do nothing more than blink uncomprehendingly when the actions on the screen progressed past kissing. When picking movies, Natalia had simply said to choose whatever he wished, and so he had picked the first cheery-sounding movie he had seen. His eyes had skipped right over the rating being 'R', and he was currently seriously regretting the mistake. Chancing a glance down at the face snuggled into his neck, he saw no change of expression; vague curiosity. There was no accusing glare of embarrassed blushing. Then again, he should not have expected Natalia to react; she oft times remained unruffled in the face of things that would make regular woman turn beet-red.

Needless to say, he was relieved when the movie was over.

Antonio picked up the remote to switch off the television, but made no move to change his position. Natalia barely shifted either, but he could feel her eyelashes brushing over his neck like the beat of a butterfly's wings, the vague warmth of her breath brushing over his collarbone. Her slim fingers had curled into the emerald material of his shirt, fisting the material above his chest as though she was worried he was about to get up and run away. His lips quirked upwards at the sweet notion, letting his fingertips glid over the white skin of her back. Natalia shivered slightly curling closer to him; blue eyes opened half-mast to regard him, meeting his green gaze.

His fingers stilled at the quiet intensity of her gaze. He didn't say anything as the blonde released her grip on his shirt, trailing the soft pads of her fingertips over his lips. His eyes widened slightly in surprise, though Natalia could see no displeasure at her actions. Uncurling the arm that had been tucked under herself, Natalia raised herself just enough so she was gazing down at Antonio, back arching at a sharp curve. His palm rested flat, fingers splayed, over the curve and pulled her closer against himself, heat eminating from his skin straight to her bones. "_Natalia_," he whispered, his free hand rising to cup the back of her neck. His eyes slid shut as he guided her nearer, her fingers slipping from his lips to tangle in his dark curls.

Her bangs brushed his forehead as she leaned down, his breath hot on her lips as-

The doorbell rang.

* * *

Spanish: _amante_- lover; _¡Hola, Lovi!- _Hello, Lovi!; _¿Estás bien?_- Are you okay?; _obviamente_- obviously; _cálmate_- calm down; _¿De qué estás hablando?- _What are you talking about?; _por favor- _please_; buena mujer- _good woman; _si_- yes; _Siento haberte hecho sentir solo__- _I'm sorry for making you lonely; _por supuesto_- of course; _¡Mierda!_- Shit!; _¡Dios mio!_- Oh my God!; _Dios_- God; _Dios mio, estás increiblemente hermosa__-_ my God, you are positively gorgeous; _si, lo siento- _yes, I'm sorry; _bella_- beautiful.

_--- I'd like to give a shout out to wSonneDarkw for correcting my horrible Spanish! Thank you so much! :D ---_

Italian: _stai scherzando_- you're kidding; _buona donna_- good woman.

Russian: _spasiba_- thank you.

**A note from fanciful thoughts: **I'm on spring break. Please don't expect such frequent updates usually, oft times it'll take me between **one and two weeks **to type up and post chapters. On another note, **I would love a beta for this story; **please, kind readers, **correct my Spanish!** I'm part of the French-speaking half of my school, and I can sort of tell with the Russian since my first language is similar. But when it comes to Spanish, I'm totally lost. And while I'm typing up my author's note, please **go to my profile and vote in the poll**! I don't know what you all want from the story until you tell me.

_woopwoop:_ I LOVE YOU. No, seriously. I'm guessing you read _Bellisima_, right? That was my inspiration for this pairing. But if you read something else, please, _please_ link me! :D Thanks for the support, hope this chapter was to your liking!


	3. The Scent of Desire

If there was one nasty habit Ivan Braginsky had, it was drinking to excess. He didn't plan to or even truly want to, honestly he didn't, but he simply happened to inhale vodka like water. Usually it would not phase him, but when consumed in the staggering amount he had in the past few hours, well...

He hadn't been aware of how much he missed Natalia- his pretty little Natasha, who was really such a sweet little thing underneath all the ice and the knives and the blood- until he had seen her with the foolish Spaniard every day. He had never wanted to interrupt their conversations, opting to observe how they interacted. She listened to his inane ramblings, and if his sharp eyes weren't mistaken, had smiled before at the tanned man's statements.

It was absolutely disgusting.

What was worse was when the man began_ touching _her. Dear god, he was always touching her! His brown hands were always sliding along her shoulders, brushing over her cheek, settling over her waist; his lips were always kissing Natalia's cheeks, her forehead, the tip of her nose. She always grew rosy, her skin pinking wherever he kissed it.

_Disgusting_.

She had done that for him once, when they were but children; the cold was always nipping at her tender flesh, so whenever he kissed her cheek that bit of warmth made the sweetest flush of pleasure blossom on her face. In fact, all of her smiles and gentle touches had always been reserved for Yekaterina and himself. He had not realized that some small part of him appreciated her attention (especially now that no one wanted to give him any) until she stopped offering it. He could rarely feel her eyes on him anymore, just in passing.

It was driving him insane. How does one go from being entirely, wholeheartedly, _obsessively_ in love with someone one day to forgetting they exist the next?!

Perhaps it was his fault. Natalia had been calming down the past few years; she had not been stalking him, whispering of marriage. She had been a quiet presence, but part of her always hinted to the insistence she felt that he love her. She had not changed her affections, merely switched her tactics. And honestly, it had been working. Their countries got on quite smoothly; there was even talk of and planning for a union. Their leaders were setting everything up for one, and he honestly had not minded much. _Perhaps it would be nice_, he had reasoned,_ to have someone waiting at home for me. _

And how! He had been living off vodka and frozen dinners for the longest time; Natalia's skillful cooking was but a distant memory. He remembered decades back, when his house had been full of activity. The Baltic trio were always quiet, but enjoyed talking together or with his sisters (they would tremble whenever they saw him); Yekaterina and Natalia cooking, cleaning, shopping together, the former laughing cheerily and the latter with a small smile on her lips; even Poland popping in, filling the house with good humor.

The memory faded away, leaving him cold. Ivan took another swig of vodka to warm his insides, which suddenly felt like ice.

Natalia hadn't even been on speaking terms with Spain until... His memory was hazy, but he could almost have bashed his head in at the sudden realization. It was _his_ fault. America had been laying on the communist insults and the Cold War jibes rather thickly, leaving his mood stormy. After the meeting, Natalia had come to him, apologizing on her old friend (lover?)'s account. He had been tired and irritated, and it honestly hadn't helped him to see her, the fear of being tackled and raped in the corner of his mind. So he had brushed her off, smacked her hand away when she had tried to comfort him, and made his way home to inhale some vodka.

And here he prided himself on being more intelligent than America. Perhaps he was mistaken.

But around an hour ago, his boss had come to his house with a concerned expression. When Ivan had inquired what had happened, the man replied that Ivan would most likely not appreciate the answer. After receiving a promise that he would not suffer his nation's wrath, the politician had revealed that the plans of union with Belarus were suddenly threatening to fall through. He had said that it was sudden and he did not understand what had happened; perhaps Ivan knew what was going on? _No, no, of course not_. Trade between Spain and Belarus had spiked significantly in the past couple of days, and the countries had never seemed to interact before. Did Ivan know why that was. _No, I had no knowledge of any such thing_.

That had been the last nail in the coffin. Now he was slumped over his kitchen table, an empty bottle of vodka in front of him and a full one in his hand.

As soon as he heard the familiar series of Yekaterina's knocks on his front door, he groaned. He had forgotten that she had wanted to deliver a new scarf to him. He knew in his gut what was going to happen before she even stepped inside, sweet voice calling his name.

_Well. I will be seeing you soon, at least, Natalia. _

* * *

_"Natalia," he whispered, his free hand rising to cup the back of her neck. His eyes slid shut as he guided her nearer, her fingers slipping from his lips to tangle in his dark curls. _

_Her bangs brushed his forehead as she leaned down, his breath hot on her lips as-_

_The doorbell rang. _

The two countries froze, Antonio's eyes snapping open to meet Natalia's startled gaze. They didn't move until another insistant ring was heard, making the blonde nation spring straight off the tanned man beneath her. She fixed her dress, flipping its hem up above her thighs. Green eyes widened considerably at the sight of her white skin, but the surprise dissapated instantaneously as the Spaniard saw her unhook a knife from the top of her stocking. He didn't think to move as she stood and stalked towards the door, her thoughts swirling indignantly over idiots who would _dare_ visit her at such a late hour-

"Natalia!" Yekaterina gasped in relief, ignoring the knife in her sister's hand. She was supporting a seemingly semi-unconscious Ivan in her arms, though it seemed he was aware enough of his surroundings to keep a bottle of vodka tightly clasped in his hand. Wordlessly, Natalia stepped back so her sister could haul the other inside, a small frown appearing between her brows.

After the dissolution of the Soviet Union, it had been a common occurrence for her older brother to drink himself to a stupor. Depending on the mood he was previous to drinking, he was either a cheery (murderous) drunk or an inconsolably depressed one. In any case, not good news to anyone other than his sisters, who were the only ones able to handle him when drunk. Anyone else was seriously risking a sound beating with the pipe by even looking in his direction. Though ever since Yekaterina and Natalia had left his house, he had more often than not been a non-violent, depressed drunk; through his inebriated ramblings, Belarus had learned that though she had frightened him back in her more... _zealous_ years, he was still seriously feeling the pain of both his sisters leaving him. It had been the final stake to his already bruised and bloody heart to have the two women who meant the most in the world to him abandon him.

Natalia stowed the knife, touching her brother's cheek in a practiced move she had done hundreds of times. "_Ivane_? _Brate_?" she inquired softly, waiting for his violet eyes to open and see her. They did just that, running over her face and body in a quick once-over. He smiled and for once she felt uncomfortable under that smile of his, bleary eyes clearing as they focused on her face.

"_Natalia. Moya krasavicha sestra_..." he addressed, carefully disentangling himself from Katyusha with a quiet "_spasiba_". The older woman looked concerned, but said nothing. In one fluid motion, Ivan had gathered Natalia up into his arms, hugging her close. She enjoyed the hug, though a small part of her noted that his embrace wasn't as warm as Antonio's. Ivan's touch had always been warm to her, but now to call him warm would be to consider Canada toasty after having visited Brazil. The young woman rubbed the large man's back soothingly, murmuring sweet nothings to him in Russian. It didn't take long for him to step back, holding her shoulders. "_Ya_... What is this?" he abruptly switched to English as his eyes caught something over her shoulder, voice a bit harsher than its usual childish tone.

Antonio belatedly realized that he was still sprawled over the couch, hair and shirt ruffled, looking extremely inappropriate. He scrambled to fix his position, but he wasn't nearly fast enough. Before he was even sitting straight, he was face to face with a pair of murderously gleaming violet eyes. "And just _what_... are you doing here, _Ispaniya_?" the paler man asked with a sick little smile, his tone coated with a sickening amount of sugar. A soft "kolkolkol" was beginning to make its way past the blonde man's throat, and his nose was assaulted by the smell of vodka. Not good. Antonio noted an evil glint at the corner of his eye, and was surprised to see the Russian had produced his trademark pipe out of thin air. What were those red stains...?

Had he said "not good"? Damn, but he must have been the king of understatements.

"Aah- Natalia and I were having dinner-"

"One does not eat dinner on the couch. Silly westerner."

"We'd finished, we were watching a movie-"

"The television is off. Do you think me a fool?" The iron of the pipe pressed under the Spaniard's chin, tilting his face up farther into the icy gaze of his aggressor.

"O-of course not, I would never-"

"It'd be good for all of us if you got out, _da_?" the large nation asked with a cheery smile and a small giggle, both of which made Antonio's blood run cold. "I am sure Natalia will not miss you."

"Russia, Natalia and I were just-"

"Out. _Now_." The childish tone had disappeared, replaced by the deep growl Ivan got when he dropped all his acts and openly threatened an enemy. Antonio darted around the much larger man, briefly hopping over to Natalia to kiss both of her cheeks, before jumping out of the house and swinging the door shut behind himself (he may or may not have been hastened by the murderous "kolkolkol" following him out the door). Both of her cheeks pinked slightly at the warmth, like a sudden flame pressing to her skin, but the blush's instigator was gone before he could see his handiwork.

Natalia stared after the closed door before turning back to her brother, who was shakily straightening from his crouching position. He was as unpredictable drunk as he was sober, and just as dangerous when he wished to be- perhaps even more so. From that point on, all conversation in the house was Russian.

"You had no right to usher him from my house, Ivan," Natalia stated plainly, no emotion in her voice. Without either the fire or Antonio, she was beginning to tremble. Yekaterina stepped up behind her, rubbing slightly more temperate hands up her arms in an attempt to warm her.

"No?" Ivan asked with a cheery smile, gazing easily at her. "I am your older brother. I believe that gives me all the right in the world."

"No," Natalia ground out, "it does not."

"Why, Natasha," he he slurred with a chuckle, using his old pet name, "are you angry with me for getting rid of the Catholic?"

God,_ was _she. Natalia was absolutely furious, and for the first time in her life, that anger was focused on her brother. Her sublime Ivan, for once the object of her rage. It was an uncanny thought, but for the moment it did not matter. The seconds ticked by in silence, Natalia's expression evening as Ivan's grin widened and Katyusha's confused frown deepened. Finally, Natalia spoke.

"Are you alright, brother?" she asked, walking towards him and reaching up the brush his scarf away from his mouth. "What made you drink?"

"Since when does anyone need a reason to drink vodka?" he asked with another drunken chuckle, taking her hand in his and kissing her palm. Natalia was a bit unnerved, but it would have been lying to say she did not enjoy the contact. It was almost as though all the years of tension between them had faded and Ivan felt he could touch her casually as he had when they were children, bestowing her with kisses and hugs at will. His smile was warm, but not without a hint of ice creeping into the corners. "What have I been drinking to for the past two decades, Natalia? Naturally, I was thinking of my darling sisters and how they, too, have left me." Yekaterina sighed softly at the statement. A drunken Ivan had a penchant for saying unpleasantly poignant things very often and very bluntly. She and Natalia shared a look, and without prompting each of them had slipped under one of Ivan's arms, leading him towards the stairs.

"We are with you now, brother," Yekaterina said softly, and Ivan cooed a cheery little "aah, Katyusha" at her. The women led him to a guest room, one that hadn't been touched in the longest time- not since the last time this had happened, almost a decade ago. As riding a bike, their routine was not forgotten. Natalia pulled off her brother's boots while Yekaterina removed his scarf and coat, and both tucked him into bed. They sat at either side of the mattress, the elder sister brushing her brother's hair from his eyes. "Sleep now, Ivan."

"Yes, sister," he answered obedientlly, an easy smile on his lips. The woman smiled happily down at him, but her sister did not share in the expression. "Katyusha, can you get me a glass of water, please?"

"Of course." She sprang up and disappeared out the door. As soon as she was out, Ivan's eyes turned to Natalia. He was no longer smiling. She swallowed subtly, not liking the look she was receiving.

"Natalia." It was that deep voice again. The only thing that was worse than the evil faux-childish tone. Since when had she been afraid of Ivan? She was supposed to be the only person in the world unafraid of him. Hell, _she_ was supposed to scare_ him_! "I will not see you with that filthy Catholic again. You do not want to know what will happen to him if I do." Her expression must have betrayed her feelings, because the man in bed chuckled and raised a muscled arm from its resting place, cupping her face in his still-gloved hand. "Do not look so unhappy, sister. After all..." he cooed to her, thumb brushing over her lips, much the way hers had over Antonio's. He was a bit too gruff his drunkenness, pressing her lips uncomfortably against her teeth. "Did you not want to become one with Russia?"

* * *

"Took you long enough to get back, you bastard," Romano snapped when he heard the door open, starting. He had been snoozing on the larger nation's couch, waiting for him to get back so he could get to to bottom of what had been going between Spain and Belarus. He received a less than enthusiastic response.

"_Lo siento_, Lovi," Antonio answered without any real emotion, closing the door behind himself. He seemed tired and more than a little irritated, which immediately incited a prickle of unease up Lovino's spine. Spain had been obnoxiously happy the last week, he had gathered that much; he had even been smiling more than he usually did. But when Spain was angry (which, thank _God_, wasn't often) all hell broke loose. He remembered how violent and vicious the usually cheery nation had been during the "pirate" phase. Even worse had been the Spanish Inquisition, when Antonio had gone around with a manic gleam in his eye and an evil smile on his face.

... And oh dear God, the _conquistadors_...! Perhaps the others had been on to something when they said Antonio was two-faced, or at least bipolar. Most times he couldn't imagine the man doing some of the things he had in the past, but whenever someone was threatening him, Antonio's eyes would take up this angry glow...

_Bad thoughts. Bad thoughts. _Lovino shook himself out of it, chancing a query.

"What happened? Did she kick you out when you tried to grope her?" he asked, intending to be snarky. His voice actually came out sounding tired.

"Russia came," Antonio answered tiredly, not even trying to plaster on his regular abashed smile.

"So? Doesn't the commie freak hate the psy-_Belarus_?" he corrected himself, not wanting to suffer Antonio's rare anger if he was indeed in one of _those_ moods. Again, the tanner man's ire was not provoked.

"I thought he did too," Antonio muttered, not quite in the mood to talk. And it had been such a lovely night... "I'm going to bed, alright Lovi? I'll see you tomorrow at the next conference." He started up the stairs, not giving the Italian the chance to protest. He didn't see the other's contemplative frown, and even if he had he probably would not have registered it. The older nation collapsed on his bed once he reached his room, bringing his hand up to brush back his bangs. He had been close, so very close to Natalia... He could still smell her perfume on his shirt from where she had been cuddled up in his arms for a good two hours.

With a groan at the effort after running straight back home (who would have guessed it was so much colder at nighttime in Belarus?), Antonio sat up and unbuttoned his shirt. He peeled the article of clothing off, falling back onto his bed and slipping under the covers. He brought the silky green fabric to his face, inhaling deeply. Yes, it smelled like her. If he closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply, it was almost as though it was her soft skin pressed to his nose rather than a simple shirt. He frowned, fingers tightening in a way that ensured horrible wrinkles in the fabric.

Almost, but not quite. Goddamn Russian bastard (there was something seriously wrong if he was sounding like Lovino...)

_It doesn't matter_, he thought with a small smile, loosening his grip on the shirt as tiredness began to claw at his mind. He knew for a fact that Natalia cared about him, perhaps almost as much as he did for her. And that was more than enough.

He was not one to give up so easily.

* * *

Spanish:_ lo siento_- I'm sorry; _conquistadors- _"conquerors", from Spain's exploration and conquering period.

Russian: _Ivane? Brate? (pronounced "Ivan-eh? Brrrat-eh?")- _Ivan? Brother?; _Moya krasavicha sestra- _My pretty sister_; spasiba- _thank you_; Ya-_ I; _Ispaniya_- Spain.

**A note from fanciful thoughts:**Wow, I am seriously spoiling you guys with this. Another update after only two days? Blasphemy! I just can't seem to stop writing, which is very bad, since it's the end of spring break and I have a _lot_ of untouched homework... eeeh... D: Aaaanyway, I don't think there's anything to correct here. I'm feeling sort of uncomfortable with Russia's characterization, but I hope it's not too bad. ^^; **Any comments or suggestions, please tell me!** And please, **go vote in the poll on my profile! **I need to know what you guys waaaant!

_Bee: _Haha, how can you offend me when you compliment my writing? I'm glad you like the story so far; stalk as much as you like! :D

_woopwoop_: No, I am sorry to say, Bellisima was never completed. Which is a crying shame, because I loved that story. And thank you! I love stalkers! You get a cookie for that. x3 -Feeds.- I hope this chapter appeals to your inner Belarus/Russia lover, though I'm pretty sure I totally jacked up Ivan's personality. XD I hope you like this chapter as well!


	4. The Rose and the Lovebite

_One second ago:_

"Antonio, we are in a _closet_."

... This statement deserves a proper explanation.

* * *

_Two hours ago: _

"Francis!" Antonio called, getting out of his car and waving to the nation walking towards the UN building. He wasn't surprised to witness the other man's shoulders tensing and the blonde head turning very slowly towards him, a mixture of distaste and irritation on the other man's face. He walked over with a bashful smile, trying to look as innocent as he possibly could. "It's good to see you. Pretty day, isn't it?"

"_Oui_," was his companion's clipped response. The blonde turned a shoulder to him and continuing into the building at a rather quick pace, obviously thinking the conversation over. Antonio sighed and hurried after him, carefully catching the Frenchman's arm.

"Francis, _por favor_, wait a second!" he requested, pulling his friend closer. The blonde turned to him with a full-on glare this time, whipping his sunglasses off. Antonio winced slightly at the sight.

The other's right eye was a puffed-up, angry purple that contrasted sharply with his pale skin and blonde hair. Antonio had the grace to look abashed, letting go of the caviar-eater's arm and shuffling back slightly. "This had better be good, _mon ami_," Francis growled, uncharacteristically harsh (of course he was harsh, look at what had happened to his gorgeous face!).

"Francis, _lo siento_ for what happened. I really didn't mean to hurt you, but really, I've done much worse in the past… would generous compensation prove my apology?" he asked, clasping his hands together. Francis sniffed and crossed his arms, still irritated but clearly interested.

"… _Je t'ecoute_."

* * *

_One hour ago: _

Antonio shifted impatiently in his seat, eyes sliding once more to the object of his affections before sharply flicking away. Not once had he seen her looking at him; her gaze was steadfastly fixed on whomsoever happened to be speaking. Worse, one of the times he had found himself looking her way, she had been tilting her face upwards to murmur something into Russia's ear.

That image, paired with the large hand curled around hers was enough to make him want to _kill_ something.

He had not realized in the fear of the moment, but he should have known it was inevitable from the moment he ran away from her older brother, practically screaming his fear out for the world to fear. There was nothing Natalia hated more than a coward and he knew that very well from her complaints about Lithuania (who really seemed like a nice guy to him). Obviously, he hadn't exactly proven himself lion-hearted when he ran out of her front door, leaving her and her sister to care for a very drunk, very irritated Russia.

It was no wonder why she was avoiding him. But…

Two weeks. Two weeks. He had only been apart from her for two weeks, and he already felt as though he was spiraling into insanity. The less romantic half of his brain provided a rather accurate adjective for how he was acting: "pathetic".

"Pathetic", however, seemed to have variable definitions. While he found his behavior to be less than intimidating, he had managed to scare the living daylights out of his ex-charge not a week ago. It had been an accident, honestly, but he had just been visiting a cackling, prying, irritating Gilbert and returned home in a sour mood only to find Lovino had made a mess out of his kitchen and-

… Well, maybe the yelling had been a bit threatening. He had apologized profusely immediately after regaining control of his temper, but a terrified Lovino had simply bolted from his house and had not returned.

Which had left his house completely empty.

Which had made him even more unhappy.

Which had made him even more tense.

… Which had made him physically lash out on Francis the last time he had visited, an off-color comment about pining over his "Russian flower" receiving retaliation in the form of a right hook. Though, frankly, that had been completely the Frenchman's fault as Natalia was _not_ (nor would she ever be!) Russian.

The point was that this behavior could absolutely not go on. Every time he ended up snarling at someone and seeing their terrified expressions, he reminded himself horribly of the way he had been back before his first financial collapse. It was partially pleasing, on a basic level, to know that he could intimidate others. However, he pseudo-pacifist he had become over recent years did not approve of the way he was acting, and demanded he remedy his behavior immediately.

And that meant catching himself a Belarusian beauty and asking her forgiveness. He was not above swallowing his pride and begging if she demanded so, because it had not taken more than a couple of days before he realized just how central she had become in his life. And in little over a week! That, if nothing else, was proof of how perfect she was for him.

Antonio leaned back in his seat and loosened his tie, turning his wandering eyes to the Frenchman sitting across from him. It took a moment, but Francis sensed his gaze and turned, cocking a challenging brow. Antonio smiled easily in response and leaned back a bit farther, nudging a wrapped package towards the other with his foot until he felt it thump lightly against the other's chair.

The blonde purposely dropped his pen and ducked under the table, quickly grabbing for the package.

An unholy smile threatened to split his face in two once he saw just what his ex-now-once-again best friend had bestowed upon him.

Springing up in the middle of America's long, drawn-out speech about absolutely nothing, Francis beamed brilliantly at everyone. "_Est-ce que mes amis veulent boire un peu avec moi_?" he asked genially, raising the bottles in his hands high for everyone to see.

There was an immediate uproar- a mix of outraged yells and calls of acceptance. Antonio, for his part, stayed quiet.

The grin on his face said more than enough.

* * *

_Ten minutes ago: _

Belarus finally cracked and sighed, tapping her fingers against the polished wood of the conference table. She did not usually give into simple desires such as those to sigh or yawn- at least, not when people could see her- but she had been sitting in the same spot for at least an hour without twitching a muscle as all of the assembled countries bickered like idiots. Her eyes had been fixed on the only imperfection of the table's smooth polish she could find, approximately four feet in front of her. She had not looked up in a good ten minutes, because the last time she had hazarded to glance at her fellow countries France had been in the middle of tearing his clothes off.

A few of the wiser countries had already excused themselves, knowing that nothing was going to be resolved that meeting. She had looked the table over earlier; they were missing Germany (which was probably why the meeting was spiraling out of control), the Nordics, South Italy, and Spain.

She was most definitely _not_ put out that he had left. Of course not. Why would she be…?

Natalia chanced a glance at her brother. He was sitting to her left, watching the chaos with rapt attention. There was something in his eyes that showed just how much he enjoyed when they all began arguing with one another, though he would not outright say so. His madness had long passed, but she knew that he was still as vindictive as ever; that had been made obvious the incident with Antonio nearly two weeks ago. He had awakened in a sour mood that day, but that had been taken care of by some "looks" aimed towards that Baltic Trio. Their shivers always seemed to make him feel better (and she had to admit, they amused her as well. Weaklings.)

He had been in an increasingly good mood every day that passed without Natalia sparing Antonio a second glance, though he would have been considerably less cheery if he knew how often the man was on her mind. He had barely let her out of his sight, as though afraid she would run to Spain the first chance she got. Which may or may not have been an extremely accurate assumption.

However, he was currently quite busy watching his comrades make total fools of themselves. She doubted he would have noticed her absence if it hadn't been for the large gloved hand curled quite tenderly around her white fingers.

It would have been a lie to say she was hating his attention. He had finally agreed to being with her; perhaps not the marriage that she had always wanted, but it was more than a start. Part of her was rather happy at the new development; in fact, that part of her was euphoric.

So why was roughly ninety-nine percent of her whole being horrified at the idea of a union between Russia and Belarus? It should have seemed as natural as breathing; she had already given up most of her people's identity, was close to forgetting her own language… It was a given that she would not mind becoming wholly Russian.

The question of why still lingered in her mind, and more infuriating than the question itself was how easily the answer came.

It was simple, really; laughably so. Natalia no longer _wanted_ it. She would always love her Ivan, she knew this; however, there was the problem that she wanted someone else _more_. Much more. It was selfish, perhaps, but she longed for strolls through the glittering streets of Barcelona, mindless chatter in a tomato garden, warm lips on her cheeks. Encouragement to share more of her culture, which in turn helped remind her of exactly who she was; she was speaking Belarusian better than she had in decades. So she could not help but be distracted despite the cool touch of Ivan's hands as she thought of Antonio.

After a moment of consideration, she looked up from the stain on the table and let her eyes sweep through the nations. Oddly, it no longer resembled a mass battle; now everyone seemed to be attempting to out-drink each other. Her eyes slid through the room, searching for a familiar head of dark curls and coming up blank._ Idiot_. That was the fifth time she had looked up for him, though she well knew that he was long gone. And why did she even care so much? She felt absolutely ridiculous for letting one man change the center of her world in little under a month. And of those three weeks, she had only been with him for one…

_How easy it is to grow attached to someone_, Natalia thought absently, the fingertips of her free hand sliding over the table's surface. She traced nonsensical little drawings, not even noticing that she was creating a neat little row of invisible tomatoes.

Out of nowhere, her vision was filled with red.

The pale woman blinked, snapping her back ramrod straight. She saw now that before her face was a red rose, perfectly in bloom and de-thorned. Her gaze followed the flower's long stem to an arm, and up the arm backwards into a bare chest and-

"... France, get away from me immediately."

"_Mais non, ma cherie! Il y a une probleme avec toi, je sais. Qu'est-ce que c'est_?" His voice was slurring. She gave him a very odd look.

"... Are you drunk?" He ignored her deadpan and laughed, pushing the rose into her chest and walking off, saying something about how she was "no fun". However, his prompt departure back into what had turned into some kind of drinking party (... really, what was wrong with these people?) may have had more to do with the steady stare Ivan had been giving him.

With a frown, she turned to the other platinum-blonde, offering his hand a light squeeze. "_Ivane_, I am going home. This is absolutely ridiculous, and no one will miss me." She spoke bluntly, leaning up so he could actually hear her over the din.

"Alright," he answered, leaning down to peck her cheek. The contact left her skin feeling a bit cold, creating a little pink spot on her pale cheek. He smiled, assuming it to be a flush of pleasure. "I will see you soon, _da_?" Was she imagining things, or did that sound more like a threat than a request?

"_Da_." Standing and picking up her papers, she promptly walked out of the room. She did not want to linger among the insanity, and just as she had expected, no one noticed her disappearance.

It was then that she noted France's impromptu gift was still in her hand... her right hand was clutching the rose to her chest as her left hand carried her briefcase. She paused mid-stride and blinked slowly, pulling the flower back enough to observe it. It looked almost exactly like the rose in her kitchen when it had been at full bloom... Now it was a sad, withered little thing, but Natalia couldn't bring herself to throw it away.

Bringing it to her nose for a dainty sniff, she was disappointed to realize that it was not a wild rose like the one Antonio had gotten her; rather, it was one of the roses she saw every day when walking past stores. With a sneer, she tossed the flower away and continued down the hall. _He had hand-picked the flower…_

This was getting ridiculous. It seemed she was now incapable of entertaining any thoughts unrelated to the Spanish man. Which really wasn't too bad, considering this one was at least interested in her as well. If the way his tanned body had coiled like a compressed spring under her-

_Bad thoughts. Very bad thoughts_. She was not supposed to be entertaining them about anyone other than Ivan at this point, since she really had no choice but grinning and bearing her impending annexation into Russia. She wondered how long she would be able to live like that, how long she could go without being driven completely insane at the promise of never speaking with-

"Natalia!"

The addressed almost screamed as a hand flew out of nowhere and grabbed her, though its owner obviously anticipated this as another hand closed over her lips. She reflexively relaxed at the very much missed feeling of near-burning skin, but tensed up again when she realized just what had happened.

Those hands she loved so much had yanked her straight out of the hallway and into a closet. She knew because everything had suddenly gone rather dark, and though this closet was admirably clean and well-kept, a broom was digging into her back.

A closet. Of all the cliché…!

Brows furrowing, she bit down lightly on Antonio's palm. It was just enough so that he started and pulled his hand back, but not nearly enough to hurt him. Her frown was clear to him as his eyes were used to the dark, and hers were adjusting quickly. The pout of her pink lips was absolutely adorable, he had to say.

"... Antonio, we are in a _closet_."

And that was what brought them into the current situation.

"Ah, yes, I'm sorry about that, _corazon_." Despite his words, he made no attempts to amend the situation; rather, he pressed her a bit more insistently against the wall. The intimacy of the situation was not completely lost on the Belarusian, but her discontent was a good dampener for whatever romance the situation could produce. One does _not_ shove a woman of her considerable pride and regal bearing into the living space of a mop. "I needed to catch you without your brother noticing. I knew you would not last much longer in the meeting."

Natalia was impressed despite herself. "It seems you know me rather well."

"I like to think so, yes," Antonio answered, and she could see his eyes twinkling with the little light that came from the other side of the closed door. "But it wasn't just that. I slipped Francis a few bottles of alcohol and asked him to turn the world meeting into... well, bedlam."

"You did that?" Natalia asked in surprise, feeling her esteem of him raise a few more notches.

"Do not sound so disbelieving, _bella_. I _am_, after all, Francis's best friend," he chuckled. "We have more in common than most seem to expect."

"I never would have guessed," she replied. "But what was so urgent that you had to intoxicate half the world's nations and ambush me?" Natalia finally asked, observing Antonio's reaction with what little light she had. He smiled that smile of his, and she noted that his hands had not left her upper arms for the whole time they had been in the closet. She irrationally feared his touch burning straight through her dress for a moment, but dismissed such thoughts as foolish. She shifted a little nearer to his warmth subconsciously.

"_Lo siento_ for that night," he said softly, his thumbs rubbing circles into her arms. It was acutely distracting. "I should not have left you in that way. It was… very Italian of me." To his surprise, her slim brows furrowed in confusion.

"Why are you apologizing?"

"Aren't you angry?"

"… With _what_?"

"For the way I ran out and left you to deal with him on your own when he was feeling so… disagreeable," Antonio answered slowly, a frown creasing his features. Natalia seemed completely confused by everything he was saying. Had he missed something?

"Why do you apologize? Ivan is Russia. _Everyone_ runs," she answered, her accent slipping a bit thick due to her frustration. Antonio forcibly restrained himself from remarking on its cuteness.

"Yes, but I know how much you hate cowards-"

"Antonio, it is not cowards that run from my brother. It is those who are smart enough to do so," she answered, speaking in a tone that implied doubt in her companion's intelligence. The Spaniard blinked slowly, unanswered questions swirling in his mind.

"But Natalia, you've been avoiding me for the past two weeks and I was sure that it was because-" Here she cut him off again, pressing her smooth fingertips against his lips. The once-powerful country silenced himself immediately, wanting to hear what she had to say.

"He does not wish for me to see you any longer." That simple statement explained more than enough. She had wanted to see him; he could still see glimmers of longing in her eyes (though that was probably just the light reflecting off them). She had not been able to because of _him_.

"Something tells me that all did not go smoothly after I left," he replied with a wry smile. "When you two sat down at the conference table, it seemed as though he purposely placed you between himself and your sister. Then he took your hand and he did not let go all through the meeting." Was she imagining an undercurrent of jealousy in his voice?

"He has grown protective," she explained simply, looking away from Antonio's expressive green eyes.

"Of course, you know that does not change anything," he stated matter-of-factly, his smile unwavering. She blinked, turning back to him in surprise.

"... What?" she asked incredulously, her hands rising of their own accord to grip the front of his button-up. "Antonio, he will _kill_ you."

"I would like to see him _try_."

Natalia started, her hands loosening slightly at his tone. There was something incredibly dark about it, but Antonio's smile remained unchanged. She wondered for a moment if she had imagined it, because his expression stayed as harmless as ever. "That is, if you still want my presence, of course," he added with a small laugh. His smile seemed rather hopeful, and if Natalia had been anyone else she probably would have smiled.

"Yes," she answered, restraining herself from answering 'of course'. He chuckled as though he heard her thoughts and pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. Natalia was surprised to note that they had been leaning closer to one another the whole time (but perhaps she really needn't have been, knowing them). She leaned back slightly, feeling her body press more firmly against the wall and her broom friend. "I have not seen you for too long," she murmured, uncommonly verbose. The tanner nation smiled, brushing his nose against hers in response.

Antonio opened his green eyes, their emotions as tangible as a gulp of hot cocoa. The light reflecting off them looked like fire. "I missed you," he replied just as softly, shifting closer so they were pressed together. Natalia blushed slightly at the near-forgotten feeling of his heat pressed fully against her, a sensation she had dreamed of so much that she had almost forgotten how much better the real thing was. The blonde responded with a quiet agreement, wrapping her slim arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

Natalia felt a strange sense of deja vu, except this time it was her hand cupping the back of his neck, guiding him down to her, and it was his fingers that were tangling in her smooth platinum locks. His bangs brushed against hers and the warmth of his body pinned her to the wall with barely any pressure. And this time, he was really...

Her breath stopped as he brushed the tip of his nose down the gentle arch of hers, murmuring a soft "Natalia" before dipping his head.

Much to her quiet frustration, his lips landed just under her ear. He pressed soft, wet little kisses all the way up her jaw until he reached her mouth. Natalia's fingers tightened slightly in his hair and Antonio chuckled, kissing each corner of her pink lips before diving straight into a kiss.

Natalia gasped softly at the sudden onslaught before reciprocating, tugging the other closer. He tasted of sunlight and happiness while she was snow and sugar; they were two elements that were never meant to be mixed together, but created the most beautiful harmony imaginable when they were. Antonio could not get enough of his almost-lover's soft lips, pressing her harder against the wall and wrapping his arms around her tightly. She welcomed the assault on her mouth, pressing right back against the Spaniard. He gently teased at the seam of her lips with his tongue, leaning his head back so that she would follow him; conversely, she baited him in similar ways, letting her lips drift to his strong jaw and enticing him into following her mouth with his.

Natalia did not notice when he had lifted her up so that their faces were even, but she gasped softly when she found herself pinned between Antonio and the wall in midair, supported only by his hands on the backs of her thighs. Her legs reflexively wrapped around his waist and- was that a growl she heard from him? There was not a single inch of her skin that wasn't aflame, and this time it wasn't just because of Antonio's superior body heat. He took advantage of her open lips to chance a taste, another tease, brushing his tongue lightly over hers. She responded with skill he hadn't expected, taking the chance to suck lightly at the invading.

It was his turn to gasp, his hands tightening on her thighs, feeling the edges of the knives under her dress. The blonde arched against him, her grip on his hair becoming more insistent.

As reluctantly as he had given up his colonies, Antonio parted his lips from Natalia's to catch his breath. She gasped softly when he kissed down her jaw, his touches more passionate this time, until her dress restricted her throat. He muttered unintelligibly against her jawline at the obstruction, finding himself shushed by a breathy "_nyet_," and sweet lips pressing against his neck, kissing and nipping their way under the collar of his shirt to place a pointed lovebite. His hands were itching to slip under her skirt and roll down her stockings, but he knew that was going too far; his suspicions were confirmed when the blonde carefully unwrapped herself from around him. Antonio stepped back to let her slide down the wall, gazing in wonder at her slender form.

She looked almost completely unruffled, save for swollen lips and a slightly wrinkled skirt. Her lips were red now… Antonio couldn't restrain himself from leaning down and pecking her lips once more. She actually smiled, pushing him away playfully and adjusting his collar so the mark near the base of his neck was hidden.

"They will be leaving soon," she murmured, her voice huskier than he had ever heard it. Sinfully tempting, really. Now that he knew she was his, he almost snatched her up again, but the way she stood on her tiptoes and pecked his lips stopped him from doing so. "_Ljublju tebja,_" she murmured, turning and disappearing in a flash of light that looked like it had belonged to an angel, but was actually just the act of opening and closing the door.

... Had he heard her correctly? Or had he dreamed that whole encounter up?

Antonio stared after her in shock, hearing the soft words echo in his head. He sank down to a sitting position on the ground, staring at the closed door.

Then, slowly, the biggest smile he had ever worn crept its way across his face.

* * *

_Ten minutes later:_

He hadn't moved a muscle when Francis and Arthur shoved the door open, tangled together sloppily, and tripped right over his sitting form.

"_Merde, Antonio! Qu'est-ce que to fais, cannard_-!?"

"Oi, ya bloody wanker, wut the hell're ya doin 'ere-!?"

We shall mercifully end the scene there, as it only goes downhill from that moment.

* * *

**A note from fanciful thoughts: **You know, I ended up just not doing my homework. That's me. :P Anyway, I was really delighted by the positive response I got to the badassery that is Conquistador Spain! I was on Spain's wikia page today and I nearly squee'd when I saw that **Himaruya more or less confirmed that Antonio really is "two-faced" like Ivan. **Oh Natalia, you and your taste for unbalanced men… Anyway, I will definitely be making Spain go berserk one of these days; keep an eye out for that. Seems that Mr. Himayura and I are on the same page on this one.

In other news, I would really like to thank **nitrolead** for the "Spain's worried Belarus thinks him a coward" idea. It helped me expand the chapter… and inspired me to give Antonio anger issues in this chapter. Stop looking at me like that, you know you want to punch Francis. **If anyone has any critiques or suggestions, leave them in your reviews or message me! If you have a great idea, I'll most likely use it and credit you! **However, I'd like to apologize **to all those who voted Spain/Romano on my poll.** I'm very sorry to say that of all the possible pairings, **that one's definitely not going to happen. **In fact, it'll be more of an undertone pairing than an actual important plot point… -Gets killed for writing a het fanfic.-

Spanish: _por favor_- please; _lo siento_- I'm sorry; _corazon_- heart; _bella_- beautiful.

Russian: _da_- yes; _Ivane_- Ivan, used when speaking directly to someone; _nyet_- no_; ljublju tebja_- love you.

French: _oui_- yes; _mon ami_- my friend; _Je t'ecoute_- I'm listening to you; _Est-ce que mes amis veulent boire un peu avec moi?_- Do my friends want to drink a little with me?; _Mais non, ma cherie! Il y a une probleme avec toi, je sais. Qu'est-ce que c'est?- _Of course not, my dear! There's a problem with you, I know. What is it?; _Merde, Antonio! Qu'est-ce que tu fais, cannard!-_ Shit, Antonio! What're you doing, you bastard!

**C'mon guys. Stop being mean. I've got almost 800 hits, but not even 30 reviews. I'd appreciate even a measly "lolz nice".**

_nekoneko_- Victory is mine! :D I love that everyone who reads this approves of the pairing; I was gearing up for violent flames. Don't worry, you'll be getting your angry!Antonio quite soon. Thank you for your quiet poll contribution; it's being taken to heart!

_woopwoop_- Psh. Please, I _welcome_those with Belarus-worthy stalking skills to follow this story! I take that as the biggest compliment ever; knowing that you like this makes me all warm and fuzzy! I'm glad you feel logic applies to Ivan; I've been getting pretty positive reviews on him, so I know I'm at least doing something right! As for Antonio… damn, I'm surprised by how many people want a slice of angry!Antonio! It's wonderful! And ever since learning he was also semi-bipolar… well, I was happy, lemme tell you that. The poll approves of your quiet contribution, and your inner Bela/Russ (ooh, admit it's clever) fangirl definitely won't be disappointed. ;)

_Green_Street20_- I got the idea from this amazing Spain/Belarus fanfic I read! That one story pretty much changed all my pairing preferences. And unfortunately, I'm going to be slowing down on the updates now that life is proving demanding.

_CreativeInjustice_- Oh yay, someone noticed the hint of America/Belarus! :D I'm glad you're liking the pairing, and I hope you're content with this chapter as well.


	5. Anything for Natalia

"Natalia?" Ivan asked, shaking the snow from his hair. Passing through Siberia, even in springtime, was not an advisory pastime for those who enjoyed warmth.

However, for the past few days, he had at least one heartening surprise waiting in his home for him: Natalia's cooking. Since he had more or less claimed her as his, he had requested she returned to his house. With her always near, he could take such better care of her, and this new side of Natalia was delightful! She was so quiet and obedient; she did not scare him any longer with hisses of marriage or attempts to drug him.

And the best part was that she was not afraid of him!

The beam of his expression when he heard her confirming call from the kitchen nearly split the clouds outside. The house was warm, warmer than he had ever remembered. And so clean! He could hardly believe it as he walked to the kitchen, his nose assaulted with the delicious smell of cooking meat. Every day he found himself amazed at the state his home- no longer house, but home!- was in, and the reluctance he usually felt to return to the empty mansion had dissipated now that there was always someone waiting for him.

Really, had Natalia always acted like this, he would have agreed to their union long, long ago…

Speaking of whom. The woman in question was in front of the stove, her back turned to him. Which was perfectly fine; shedding his thick coat, scarf, and gloves, the Russian walked over to his sister. She tensed initially at the feel of his strong arms wrapping around her waist, and he was a little bit surprised to note that she did not relax much. Still, it was Natalia. She relaxed about as much as Germany, so he really should not have been surprised.

"Privyet, Natasha," he greeted with a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss to the corner of her jaw and nuzzling her throat. She was so very soft and pliant in his grip, her skin as sweet as sugar. He loved that; loved how he did not feel her tremble as his arms wrapped tightly around her. Loved that he did not _need_ to be gentle with her- no, that he _chose_ to do. Simply because he did not need to. Finally someone he could love with all of himself without worrying about breaking them!

"Privyet, Ivane," she murmured in her soft voice of honey and wind chimes, earning herself another nuzzle simply due to the response.

The female nation, for her part, was feeling extremely uncomfortable. It was obvious from the way Ivan was treating her that he had no idea as to what had transpired between herself and Antonio mere hours ago (the thought sent an imperceptible shiver through her body.) She had showered and changed before he had arrived home, eliminating the musk of the Spaniard's cologne from her clothing and skin, though her paranoia had told her that Ivan would notice anyway.

Still, she could thank her god that Ivan had been treating her so well since their initial confrontation. He had been gentle, affectionate- though, to be fair, he was always affectionate with those he loved. Who wouldn't reject his touches, anyway. It wasn't hard for her to understand the way he thought and acted, as it was so similar to herself- she was simply much more upfront about her emotions. She knew how badly it always hurt Ivan's feelings when no one seemed to want to be friends with him; the only nations who he could actually consider "friends" and not "allies" had to count as… well, at best, he had the Balkans and his sisters. Like a child, he served those who rejected his love were with pain borne of his own hurt. He took his constant rejections out on the whole world, and instead of any kind of solution, it only made others flinch away more. It must have been lonely.

She understood. She had been even lonelier.

That was probably why he was being so possessive of her, refusing anyone save Katyusha the right to touch her. It made sense, now that he finally had someone he could expressly call his own. Someone who would not try to run, someone he could love fully. She knew he did not mean to be so domineering (… or perhaps he did?) but she was beginning to get twitchy with the separation from the rest of the world. She had never been very social before, but her tendency to seclude herself from others had been a personal choice. With the imposition of being forced to stay away from others came the sensation of her freedom being strangled. The only times she saw the other countries was when she went to the World Conference building, and even then, she did not talk much. Mostly, she chatted with the few other women present, always sure to let nothing of her inner thoughts slip- she knew that it did not matter where Ivan was in the room; he would always be able to hear her.

Now she could more or less understand why she had frightened him so much, now that his actions mirrored her earlier ones. Having a taste of her own medicine was much more bitter than she had expected.

The important question was how she was going to tell Ivan that she wanted Antonio. She was not about to fight Ivan- she was strong, but she could not hold a candle to him. In any case, such a blunt refusal to bend to him would most likely result in pain on her part. If she fell into a sudden "depression", it would make no sense and would not match up with her character. She weighed the pros and cons of having Ivan find her "crying" in her "dreams", calling Antonio's name. Or would it make him angry to think that the Spaniard was in her subconscious?

Sighing softly and leaning back against the solidity of Ivan's chest, Natalia watched as though detached as her pale hands flipped the meat she was cooking. Ivan hummed his approval at the sight and smell of dinner, pressing a small kiss to his sister's cheek. Throwing a glance at the table and finding it bare, he released the woman in his grip and got to setting it up. There was no sound in the room other than the soft clinking of dishes and the quiet sizzle of meat. Natalia was left alone to her thoughts, which was perhaps not a good thing.

She was plotting again, but her thoughts were cut by Ivan's soft voice telling her that the table was set. She thanked him, seeing that the meat was done. They both liked it medium-rare, another of their many similarities. Really, they had far too many things in common; it was disconcerting at times. She set the meat, salad, and bread down on the table and sat beside Ivan. They both began eating quietly. While Russia found the silence to be pleasantly peaceful, Belarus found it oppressive. The table was large, a remnant from the Soviet Union days where they had all- _all_- sat together for each meal.

The silence was enough to drown a person, especially after the easy way Antonio would chatter to her whenever they ate together, but she contented herself with the knowledge that it would be over soon. She could finish the dishes and curl up with a book, or perhaps even watch a movie…

She had finished about a minute ago, as she never really ate much. She watched Ivan, the effortless grace of his large hands as he sliced his steak, as he speared vegetables on the end of his fork. It was truly impressive that such a large man could move the way he did- a shared family trait, she assumed.

She wondered over him yet again. What made one fall in love with a person? For the longest, _longest_ time, she had been in love with her older brother. Though he technically wasn't even her real brother, since only the Italies were actually related. The Slavic siblings had all been born, or created, whatever happened to them, within quick succession of one another. They had stuck together through thick and thin when they had been little, and the resulting ties that bound them were thicker than blood. As far as she could remember, her memories were steeped in adoration for the large man. She had loved him to the point of obsession, loved everything about him. She still loved many things about him. She loved his warm violet eyes, his large hands, when he pulled her to his chest and wrapped his scarf around both of them.

Yes, Natalia loved him very much. However, she found herself so much more in love with…

She blinked, meeting the other country's inquisitive violet gaze. Pink flooded her cheeks as she realized she had been staring at him for at least five minutes- he had finished dinner already only to find her watching him. With a quiet apology, the platinum blonde stood and picked up both their plates, hurrying back into the kitchen. Ivan gazed after her in surprise, before standing to his full height and chuckling. How adorable his little Natalia could be! He followed her into the kitchen carrying the now-empty pan of meat and the salad bowl, a contented smile on his lips.

Natalia was mentally berating herself, setting the dishes in the sink. How idiotic! Now he would surely think she adored him the same way she used to-

Ah, there it was.

Arms wrapped around her again, large hands gently prying the dishes away from her much smaller ones. She watched as those hands engulfed hers in their warm hold- he was only warm in his own native lands- and brought them to their owner's lips. Ivan pressed a gentle kiss to the back of each hand before releasing them, turning Natalia around to face him. She looked up silently, meeting his gaze. His violet eyes were tender in a way that made her feel incredibly guilty for leading him on, not that he had left her much choice in the matter.

It came as a bit of a surprise when he swept her into his arms, picking her up about a foot off the ground. The pale woman gasped, wrapping her arms tightly around her brother's shoulders for leverage. A low chuckle rumbled in his throat and he gazed up at her- she was elevated about an inch above him now- before tilting his face up and closing his eyes, catching her lips in a tender kiss.

Natalia panicked, but it didn't show in her actions. She kissed him gently, despite being deathly afraid that he would want more than a kiss. She felt horrible, as though she was betraying Antonio, every second Ivan's surprisingly soft lips slid over hers.

Her feelings weren't shared by the other party. Ivan reveled in the touch of her silky-smooth lips molded against his, her body so supple beneath his hands. Without breaking the contact of their lips, he carried her to the living room and sat, resting her slim form in his lap. A soft purr rumbled in his throat, and the vibration carried from his chest to hers.

When Natalia felt his tongue slide over the seam of her lips and his hands begin to inch up her skirt, she knew she was in trouble.

* * *

Antonio whistled cheerfully to himself, all his problems forgotten as he made his way towards his house. His pace was relaxed, hands in pockets, as he made his way down the beautiful streets of Barcelona.

Of course, his thoughts were all focused around the woman whose lips he could still feel against his neck. The Spaniard grinned widely, barely restraining himself from dancing. She was _so_ cute! And since the moment she had told him she loved him, he was absolutely sprung. It was as though he was high off air.

By the time he was nearing his house, he was practically dancing. The cheerful Spanish sun was shining down on him, rendering his mood excellent. Everything in his life was absolutely perfect! He had a beautiful girlfriend (though he couldn't really call her that in public), a wonderful house (ignoring his economy), a rich, wonderful history (barring all the bad things he'd done in the past), and wonderful friends (most of whom wanted to kill him).

'… _Alright, so maybe my life isn't perfect,'_ he thought with a laugh, shaking his head. But after that afternoon, it was pretty damn close.

With a cheerful hum, he stepped into his house and bounded up the stairs for a change of clothes. He felt like spending some time in his tomato gardens, relaxing, as he knew he wasn't in a good state of mind to even attempt working. He'd probably end up staring at the same piece of paper for hours and doodling pictures of Natalia all over it.

Antonio stepped into the gardens dressed in his usual peasant shirt and loose pants combo, stretching in preparation for some tomato-picking. He froze mid-stretch at the sight of someone already rifling through his tomatoes, only to grin and sprint over.

"Loviiiii!" he greeted jovially, pulling the smaller man into a tight hug. The addressed let out an undignified little "meep" and countered by smacking the Spaniard clear across the face. Antonio chuckled and held his cheek, shaking his head. "You are _so_ uncute."

"Idiot Spain!" the other snapped in retaliation, glaring hotly at him. "You can't just attack me like that, you bastard!"

"That wasn't an attack, Lovi, it was a hug!"

"Like I said_, attack_! Why you- … what the hell is _that_?" Lovino snapped, eyes alighting with actual fire as he yanked the other closer. Antonio blinked in surprise as the Italian nearly tore apart the collar of his shirt to stare at something at the base of his ne- '_Oh_.'

"That's nothing, Lovino," he chuckled, drawing back and resting a protective hand over his neck. He wasn't ashamed of the mark- in fact, he would love to walk around shirtless and expressly point it out to people. However, he really, _really_ did not want to deal with the inferno he saw simmering under Lovino's skin.

"THE HELL IT'S NOTHING!" the Italian roared, grabbing his hand and pulling it off the hickey for the world to see. Antonio winced at the volume of the man's voice but didn't reply, already fearing Lovino's wrath. "That's a fucking hickey! Who the hell gave it to you?!"

"I think you can guess," Antonio answered without thinking, earning himself a swift punch in the arm.

"Belarus again?! What the fuck Antonio, I thought you two were done!"

"Shh, not so loud," the accused hissed, grabbing Lovino's forearms and looking around as though he was afraid Russia would appear out of nowhere waving his pipe. "Yes, it was Natalia. I caught her during the meeting-"

"_That's_ why you left early?! Why you-"

"Why do you even care? It's really none of your-"

"Of course I care, you dumbass!"

"And I'd really like to know why! You never do anything other than mock me and glare at me, can't you be just a little happy that I finally found someone who's happy to be with me?!" Antonio snapped hotly, glaring at his companion. Lovino fell silent, looking as though he had been slapped across the face.

"You really don't know…?" Romano asked quietly, staring at the other in a mixture of surprise and hurt. Antonio's glare softened slightly in the face of Lovino's obvious distress, but didn't disappear.

"_¿Qué?_"

"… You're such an idiot, Antonio," he hissed, turning around and heading for the nearest exit. Catching the glint of moisture sparkling on the violate man's face, the dark-skinned one grabbed his arm and turned him around. He blinked slowly in surprise, not understanding what he was seeing.

Tears were flowing down Lovino's cheeks fast and hot, and he was sniffling, refusing to look at him. He bit his lip, the tears flowing faster as he tried to break the Spaniard's grip, but it was too strong.

"_¿Lovi, qué…?_"

"… So stupid…" The smaller man managed, raising his hands to scrub at his eyes. The tears smeared over his cheeks, but it didn't look like they were about to stop. "… 'course I'm happy with you, dumbass… more than_ she_ is… doesn't even fucking _know_ you…" Snippets of sentences fell from his lips between shudders and quiet hiccups, leaving Antonio stunned. He stared at the other, unable to believe what he was seeing or hearing.

"Lovi, you…" he floundered again, unable to say what he wanted. A hot glare met the fragment.

"I LOVE YOU, IDIOT SPAIN!" The yell was so loud that there was a faint echo ringing in both their ears. A few birds in a nearby tree took it as a signal to take off to safer places where there were no raging Italians. "I thought you knew that! And I thought you loved me too! And then you go and have your fling with this pretty girl, who you're always talking about and you're always with her and she's apparently so fucking _perfect _and a good cook and good at cleaning and doing everything I suck at and… and…" He hung his head again after the fast slew of words had left his mouth, rubbing furiously at the tears all over his face in disgust. When he continued his voice was low, eyes staring at the ground. "Then you go and pine after her like she's the most amazing person in the word and you scare me half to death in one of your separation anxiety rages… And when I come to apologize for running off, you're sporting her hickey."

"Oh Lovino…" Antonio sighed, wrapping his arms around the smaller man and pulling him close. There was nothing else left to do now, no words of consolation he could offer when everything Lovino had said was completely true. The soft whimpers and hiccups coming from the face buried in his chest slowed to a stop until there was just the occasional sniffle.

"Why do you love her?" the Italian asked quietly after a few moments of absolute silence, not moving from his position in Antonio's arms. It was warm and comfortable, and even though he knew the embrace didn't belong to him anymore, he was loathe to leave it.

"Just because. Because she let me." Antonio answered quietly, running his fingers gently through his former charge's hair. There was nothing he could do anymore other that express his honesty and hope it wouldn't hurt the delicate man in his arms any further. He had no idea how much his relationship with Natalia had affected the other, having been certain that Lovino didn't love him. It was a shame; he had loved Lovino so much, _so much_ before he had met the Belarusian… But now he would not give her up for the world.

He felt the telltale sensation of moisture soaking through his shirt from where the Italian's face was nestled. An affectionate hand brushed through the other's hair, a sad smile on the older man's face.

Not for the world. Not even for the man he had loved hopelessly for so long.

"_Lo siento, Lovino. Lo siento_."

* * *

The warm weather was disconcerting, Yekaterina noted as she made her way down the foreign streets towards her target. She wondered if this was why Natalia liked her lover's house so much- the warm weather. Then again, the younger woman most likely simply loved the man, and it was easy to see why. Happy, sunny people were easy to love.

She smiled at the thought of her little sister finding true love before the smile slipped right off her face.

'_Not while she's with Ivan.'_ She sincerely hoped that they didn't think her so blind that she couldn't see how much her little sister was suffering. Natalia was silent about it as she usually was, but that had no effect on the all-seeing eyes of an older sibling. It was the little things she saw whenever she came over- how possessive Ivan's arm was around the girl's slim shoulders, how her eyes would glaze over with faraway thoughts when he wasn't paying attention. She was thinking of someone else.

With her sister's distant face in mind, she shuffled her feet towards the enormous house she had been travelling towards. It was impossible to miss even from a mile away, reflecting the power of its inhabitant. There was no one else she could turn to anymore, but she knew without a doubt that her request would be answered.

Natalia was, after all, surprisingly easy to love.

A delicate fist grasped the heavy brass knocker and hit it against the door three times, said fist's owner wincing at the noise. It wasn't a long wait before the double doors opened and she was met with a surprised face.

"Ukraine? Hey, what's wrong? Come in…" A hand ushered her inside, concerned eyes looking her over. She smiled sadly. The man could be surprisingly thoughtful when someone was unhappy; otherwise he was clueless. It was almost a good thing she was so shaken up about this whole ordeal.

"I have a favor to ask you…" she murmured as she was ushered into the ornate living room. Her host motioned to a comfortable looking couch by a blazing fire, worry apparent in his features as he nodded.

"Sure, sure. Sit down first, let me get you some hot chocolate or something…"

"No, please! I need to tell you now, I need to know you'll help!" she insisted, grabbing his arm and pulling him back as he headed for the kitchen. A frown marred the man's face, but he perched himself on the coffee table facing her and offered his full attention.

"Alright, if it's that serious. I'm all ears."

"It's about Natalia. You need to help me, please," Yekaterina begged, clasping her hands together. She stared at the man before her with baleful eyes, looking near tears. She didn't miss the way he immediately perked when she mentioned her younger sister. "She's so unhappy, it's obvious! But Ivan can't see it! I'll do anything to get her out of that house and back to the man she loves, please…"

"You don't need to do anything… wait, what's going on, exactly?"

"Almost a month ago, Natalia and Spain ran into each other. He invited her to dinner at his house, and after that, they were inseparable for a week. You saw them- they were always together."

"Yeah, I did…"

"Then about two weeks ago, I found Ivan drinking. You see, he hadn't drunken that much in a long time, so I grabbed him and carried him over to Natalia's house like I used to… She and I used to take care of him when he was incapable of caring for himself. But when we got there, we found her in this beautiful dress, with Spain splayed over the couch like we had interrupted something. Ivan got really angry and threatened him until he left… Then Natasha and I carried Ivan upstairs and laid him in bed. He asked me for a cup of water and I went to get it, but when I came back, Natasha was so quiet and…" she covered her face, stopping the tears from spilling down her cheeks.

She felt absolutely horrible for letting this happen. What kind of horrible sister was she? She hadn't been there to protect her Natasha, and now she was suffering in a union she did not want, away from the man she loved…

"What about at the world meeting? She and Russia seemed pretty coze together."

"She's acting! You of all people should be able to recognize that... Were you watching her when she left?"

"Uh, I was sorta caught up with the beer..."

"After she left- and I know because Ivan asked me to follow her- I saw her get pulled into a closet. When she exited, she was flushed and looked as though she had been kissing someone... Obviously, Spain got everyone drunk so Natalia would leave and he would have some time with her!" She smiled at the thought, happy that her sister had such a clever lover. The smile melted almost immediately at the realization of what would happen if anyone found out about the tryst- what if Spain had left any marks on her sister's skin? "Please, you need to help her! Somehow, however you can! I know you care about her, and she trusts you… Please, there's no one else who can fight off Ivan but you! If she asks to leave, he won't see reason! He won't stand to lose her after everyone he's lost in the past…" Meekly, the Ukrainian clasped the hands of the man before her, staring up at him. "Please, do this for Natalia."

"Don't worry about it," America grinned, giving her hands a reassuring squeeze. "Anything for Nat."

* * *

**A note from fanciful thoughts:** Ack, sorry to get this out so late, but school's been cracking down on me. Writing time was not abundant this week, but I felt the need to write this before cracking down on my homework load. Anyway, I wanted to say that I haven't forgotten this story, but** updates will be fewer until June**. I have a lot of stuff going right now, but come summertime I'll be able to chill. Please don't kill me. On a sidenote, I feel absolutely horrible about making Ivan the villain, but it can't be helped. He doesn't like it either, but we'll just have to deal. **Please go to my profile and vote in the new poll!** It's about the **pairings** you'd like to see in this fic. I'll be working on incorporating more characters in the future, so watch for that. :D

And reviews are appreciated! Please give them to me. Or I'll cry.

CreativeInjustice- Yes, I must admit that I'm a bit of a FrUK fan. They do tend to make everything they star in ten times better, don't they? And thanks for the sympathy, it's nice to find someone as swamped in homework as I am. Dx

nekoneko- Well, here we have more skirt!creeping, though it isn't by Antonio this time. I hope that doesn't put you off too badly. D: Yes, I am sad to say, that was a FrUK scene, since I do ship the two. They won't be a major thing, so don't worry about it. I'll see if I can weasel in some USUK interaction, but no romance promised. And I'm glad I made you happy! I always do review replies, so you'll be seeing your name for quite a while. :3

woopwoop- Yes, you hit the nail right on the head- the lovebite did have some nasty consequences, _si_? We'll be seeing a lot more from the unbalanced men, so trust me when I say you'll be getting your fill. ;D

LadyLloyd- Oh man, I'm so glad you like this! I was afraid it'd seem horrible in comparison for anyone who's read Bellisima. It's nice that someone got all my little jokes and liked them; I thought I'd be getting cracks about how lame I am by now. XD


	6. HAPPY NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR!

You people... YOU PEOPLE. You are all way too awesome for my mind to even begin to comprehend.

From Chaos Tears who's sent me a Spain/Belarus cosplay picture and the amazing Audrey0 who did an actual SpainBelarus fanart, to Soul Hunter2 who requested to translate the fic into Portuguese and everyone who's sent me ideas to perpetuate the fic, I can't even begin to explain how warm and fuzzy all your support makes me. You think I don't read the messages and suggestions you send me, but you're wrong- I just always forget to reply since I get them on my phone when I check my email, and never actually check my mailbox on my laptop.

Oh, and thank you to all you native Spanish speakers who corrected my translator'd Spanish! I'm sorry I butchered your language, I only know English, French, and Serbian... There are way too many of you for me to mention, but all of you are so, so amazing; your help has been incredibly valuable to me.

In light of all your love and support, I have a proposition for you all. Obviously you like this fanfic, and that's great, because I like it too! However, I feel that the writing and plot could be much, much better. I did begin writing over this a year ago, after all...

So how would you feel about me recreating this fanfic? Similar plot, same pairings, same general story- but better. Review with yes or no, and I shall heed my readers' commands!

Again, thank you all so much. Back when I wrote this the SpainBelarus community was nonexistent, and now it's exploded! You're all much too wonderful. Thank you again!

-fancifulthoughts


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